


Tribute Given, Treasure Gained

by sphagnum



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Bondage, Happy Ending, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Language Barrier, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Non-verbal negotiation, Omega Tony Stark, Power Imbalance, Rope Bondage, Scenting, Tribute Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphagnum/pseuds/sphagnum
Summary: “Steve,” the Captain said, hand over his chest.Tony licked his lips. Was he supposed to give his name, or remain silent until he was asked a direct question? The Captain--Steve, apparently--already knew his name, he had to, it had been included on the settlement he and Stane had signed. Was this a test? Time was passing and Steve was still waiting with his hand on his chest but Tony had to figure out the right answer fast or when Steve moved he might--“Tony,” he blurted.“Tony,” Steve repeated. He hadn’t come any closer. He said something short that might have beenpleased to meet youoryou look good on your knees. Tony had no way of knowing and he wasn’t going to risk echoing it. He kept quiet.See, Howard? Idoknow how to shut up when my life depends on it.





	Tribute Given, Treasure Gained

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a tumblr post about warlord!Steve and tribute!Tony, it cross-pollinated in my head with [this excellent Stucky fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341023/chapters/25381350) where tribute!Steve is tied in elaborate rope bondage before being given to dragon!Bucky, and then I had a mental image of barbarian Steve slowly and carefully unwrapping an elaborately tied Tony and nowhere to put it. I didn't intend to write 12,000 words just to have somewhere to put it, but here we are!
> 
> None of this is remotely historically accurate to anything ever, but Steve’s people are very loosely based on Vikings and Tony’s city is in their raiding grounds in southern Europe. The dubious consent starts out pretty dubious and then gets less dubious as they find ways to negotiate despite the lack of a shared language, so please heed the tags and read with caution if dubcon is an area of concern.
> 
> EDIT: I got curious when there was a bump in hits and searched this fic title on tumblr, which finally let me find the original post I mentioned above again, which was [this ficlet](https://sabrecmc.tumblr.com/post/173944517663/conquering-warlord-steve-tell-us-more-mom) by sabrecmc. When I saw the post a few months back I didn't realize it was an idea they were writing as a full-fledged fic, and I'm now cringing at having stolen the concept without giving credit, so I apologize for that! My memory of it was as a more "what if" story idea than a fic in progress, or I would have worked harder to track down the original or altered the concept more. I didn't get the idea for this particular fic until reading the dragon!Bucky/tribute!Steve fic mentioned above when the two concepts crashed together, and by then my memory of the post was hazy. Anyway, full credit for the tribute Tony/warlord Steve idea to [sabrecmc](https://sabrecmc.tumblr.com), and if you like this concept definitely check out their "[warlord Steve](https://sabrecmc.tumblr.com/tagged/warlord-steve)" tag.

Once the city’s scouts saw the Captain’s sails approaching over the horizon, Tony knew his fate was sealed.

He took the news with every outward appearance of calm. When the city bells had first rung to sound the alarm, Tony had used a spyglass of his own design, more powerful by a factor of ten than the ones used by the city scouts, to survey the incoming threat. By the time a white-faced servant knocked at his door, Tony had already taken the measure of the Captain’s forces. The Captain’s recent battles against Hydra had doubled the size of his fleet. Some of the captured Hydra vessels still showed traces of red paint where Hydra’s tentacled sigil had been hastily scraped off the sides of the ships by the Captain’s troops. With a weary lack of surprise, Tony recognized that the cannons affixed to those ships matched the city’s own most recent designs. Stane had been busy.

Their city had repelled raiders from the north before, with Howard’s cannons picking off ships at long range until the raiders simply turned and sailed for easier targets. That wouldn’t work against the Captain. Even if the cannons had been properly maintained since Howard’s death, which Tony knew for a fact hadn’t happened, the Captain’s ships were staying too far offshore for the cannons to reach. His own fleet’s cannons were in better shape, and although he didn’t have the advantage of the high ground, he could no doubt find a way to compensate. The Captain’s tactics were legendary. If he decided to target the city, he’d find a way in sooner or later.

The ships were flying the Captain’s colors, red and blue rings with a white star in the middle, but below the Captain’s standard was a yellow flag, not the black flag Tony had expected. A black flag would have meant an assault was imminent. A yellow flag meant the Captain was willing to parlay, and if he was willing to negotiate, Tony knew exactly what Stane was going to offer him. There was only one bargaining chip in the city valuable enough to buy off the most feared barbarian of the north.

Tony was glad to have made his own evaluation before the servant showed him to Stane’s office. It made it easier to stand there and be talked over like he wasn’t in the room while Stane and his advisors made frantic plans to convene a peace summit on an hour’s notice, like being there was his own idea. Like he had some measure of control over what was going to happen next. He didn’t usually allow himself the comfort of illusions, but lying to himself was better than falling into blind panic.

Stane addressed him directly only once before the summit started. He stopped Tony outside the banquet hall where the Captain’s men were waiting, took his wrist in a punishingly hard grip, and spoke quietly enough that nobody else in the delegation heard. “I hope I can count on you to do what needs to be done.”

“Oh, of course, Uncle Obie. I’ve always known my duty,” Tony said, stressing the _I’ve_ just enough to make his point. Stane’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t stupid, unfortunately--stupidity would have been easier to forgive--but he couldn’t do anything more forceful than glare to show his displeasure, not when he needed Tony to be as pristine as possible. It wouldn’t do to offer the Captain damaged goods.

It gave Tony a sick little thrill to snark at Stane now, when he was protected from the casual backhand the words might have gotten him in other circumstances, but only because bruising him would be an insult to the Captain.

Talk about mixed fucking blessings.

 

“At least he doesn’t actually have horns.” Tony shifted his weight to his heels, trying to ease the pressure on his knees. It was hard to believe that this time yesterday evening he'd been getting ready to go to bed at the end of a normal, boring day. Every time he closed his eyes, he half-expected to wake up and find out this had all been an unusually vivid dream, except that his dreams involving nudity and rope had never been this damn _drafty_. “Based on that bard’s tale from last midwinter, I’d wondered how closely he would match a literal devil, but he seems human enough.”

Jarvis hummed and indicated that Tony should hold still with a fingertip on his shoulder. The ropes encasing his legs and everything in between them were all in place now, thank God, and they were onto the safer territory above Tony’s waist, Jarvis’ hands heartbreakingly gentle as he finished the bindings. Stane had sent one of his personal servants to do the work of getting Tony ready, but Jarvis had blocked the tent’s opening and said “I shall attend to Master Stark,” with such icy civility that the servant had bowed out without a word of argument. The servant had left a book instead, the page open to the rope design Jarvis was faithfully replicating. As embarrassing as it was, Tony was glad it was Jarvis and not a stranger applying the ritual bindings. Jarvis’ hands had never hurt him.

“I’ve heard different tales about him in the servant halls.” Jarvis moved behind Tony and waited until Tony crossed his wrists together behind his back to start winding the ropes over his shoulders and down his forearms. “They say when the Captain sacks a city, he holds his warriors back for three days and nights and sets them to guarding the roads out. During that time, civilians are free to leave the city with whatever they can carry, and the Captain’s people only take tribute from those with something to spare.”

“Oh, sure,” Tony said, talking fast in a futile attempt to cover his nerves, as though Jarvis of all people couldn’t see through him. “He’s a great folk hero, as long as he’s raiding someone _else’s_ city. Remember the bard last winter, the one Obie kept inviting back to give command performances?” The bard’s tale of the Captain’s siege of Azzano was one of Stane’s favorites, and he’d commissioned performances of it so often that the whole household knew it by heart. Nothing boosted morale like hearing about your neighbors and former rivals getting crushed by the Captain’s merciless barbarian army, apparently.

Jarvis snorted as he adjusted the final knot securing Tony’s wrists. “How could I forget? Move your fingers, please.”

Tony wiggled his fingers and moved his wrists a little, letting Jarvis test the give. There wasn’t a lot of it, but the bindings weren’t tight enough to be physically uncomfortable. It was only what they symbolized that Tony had a problem with. “There weren’t a lot of peaceful evacuations in that story. Decapitations, yes. Heads on pikes, yes. Peaceful evacuations, no.”

“Bards have a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps the servants’ tales are closer to the truth.”

Tony glanced at the tent flap. It was closed, for now, but all around them the Captain’s army bustled with activity as his soldiers made camp for the evening. They would leave in the morning with the tide, and Tony would go with them, one more piece of flotsam pulled in their wake. “I guess I’ll find out.”

Not that it really mattered. There wasn’t anything Tony could do about it if the Captain lived up--or down--to his reputation. The rope was just a more literal representation of the ways Tony was already bound.

One thing that _was_ true about the Captain, apparently, was that he gave the cities he targeted a chance to negotiate before it came down to open warfare. The peace summit had been successful. Stane had bribed the Captain to pass over their city for the next three years, and Tony was part of the bribe. Not just part of it: the centerpiece. The tent around him was full of chests and sacks that held more material wealth, jewels and silks and ingots of silver, but Tony was the one kneeling in the center of the rug trussed up like a prize pheasant.

Omegas were rarer in the north. Untouched, unmated omegas were rarer still. _How lucky for me_ , Tony thought. _Maybe I’ll be such a novelty that he won’t have me executed for mouthing off._

The Captain might come to regret his bargain, no matter how difficult it would have been for him to secure an omega otherwise, once he got to know what Tony was actually like. All he’d seen of Tony so far was a glimpse across the room. Stane had made sure to have Tony visible in the hall where the negotiations were being conducted, so the Captain and his people could see what was on offer. No sense in buying without inspecting the merchandise first. Tony had been kept away from the main table where the alphas were talking, of course, but the Captain had given Tony one look--one measuring, focused sweep that had knocked the air from Tony’s lungs--and then kept his eyes to himself for the rest of the negotiations. Tony wasn’t sure whether to take that as a good sign, or a very, very bad one.

“You should be honored,” Stane had told him, after the summit had ended and the Captain had withdrawn from the hall back to his campgrounds outside the city. “I know it’s not what we’d hoped for for you, Tony, but with this sacrifice you’re saving the city.”

Tony could have saved the city _years_ ago if Howard and Stane had just _listened_ when Tony told them how to improve the city’s defenses. But no, they couldn’t take weapons advice from an _omega_. That would make them look weak. So the sun-amplifying mirrors that could blind incoming raiders and the quick-reload crossbows Tony had designed remained dusty prototypes in the workshop everyone politely pretended Tony didn’t have, and when the Captain’s raiders came calling, it was Tony’s ass, not his brain, that would save the day. Truly, such an honor.

It wasn’t like Tony had any delusions that one day he’d get to have a grand romance and a love match. He’d been betrothed to a neighboring lord’s son ever since he’d presented at the age of twelve. He was used to the idea that he would be traded away as part of a political alliance; he’d just expected that trade to only take him one county over, with someone he--well, not _trusted_ , but he knew what to expect from Tiberius Stone. Better the devil you know.

He didn’t know the Captain at all, except by bloody reputation, and he knew nothing of the Captain’s homelands except that they were far away by sea. As Ty’s omega, he would have at least been able to bring a retainer of people he trusted. He would have known the language. He would have known how to keep Ty happy. He couldn’t even _talk_ to the Captain.

Tony looked down at his body, at all the exposed skin on display between elaborate frames of rope, and thought that conversation was probably not destined to play a large role in his relationship with the Captain anyway. Maybe not being able to understand each other would be more of an advantage than a drawback. Tony’s mouth got him into even more trouble than his mind, and if the Captain couldn’t understand him well enough to be annoyed at what he was saying, Tony would probably be safer. Not that he couldn’t find some way of disappointing the Captain anyway. It seemed to be Tony’s specialty.

Jarvis gave up on pretending that the ropes needed any more adjusting. His professionally deadpan face couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes.

“It won’t be so bad,” Tony said, with every ounce of feigned confidence he could muster. “I always wanted to travel more. Remember when I stole Howard’s biggest atlas and hid it in my room?” He’d gotten belted for that once Howard found out, but Jarvis had never known how far Howard went to discipline his son behind closed doors, so as far as Jarvis was concerned it was just a charming anecdote.

Jarvis’ smile was alarmingly watery. “You were going to grow up and be an adventurer.”

“Here’s my chance.” If Tony ignored the fact that none of this was his idea and that he wouldn’t have any control over what happened to his life from here on out, it was kind of exciting. He really had always wanted to travel. This wasn’t how he would have chosen to, but, well. He’d always known his options were going to be limited.

“Is your choice?” one of the Captain’s men, the stocky archer with blond hair darker and scruffier than the Captain’s own, had asked when they met Stane's procession at the edge of the camp. He’d been the one to translate during the hand-off earlier that day when Stane’s men had hauled in carts of treasure, Tony riding behind them like an afterthought. He’d looked at Tony, not Stane’s men, when he asked. “You come willingly?”

“Yes,” Tony had said, immediately and steadily. He’d been raised right, despite Stane’s interference and Howard’s drunken indifference, and he knew his duty to the city’s people. _His_ people, even if he knew once he presented that he’d never rule them himself. He was still a Stark, and Starks were made of iron.

There had been plenty of chances to run--he knew the city’s defences better than anyone, and could have slipped out of his locked room at any point (it was honestly insulting that Stane thought locking the door would be enough to prevent him from leaving if he wanted to, and Tony wished he’d gotten a chance to tell him so to his face). He could have evaded the household guards, stolen a horse from the stables, and made his way to the gates. He could have gotten out.

And then, when his absence was discovered and the Captain realized that Stane had broken faith, the people in his city would have been the ones to pay the price.

Tony wasn’t going to let that happen. One life in exchange for many: the math wasn’t remotely difficult.

He would have preferred for the one life to be _Stane’s_ rather than his, but nobody had asked him. The people making decisions about his life didn’t ask him much of anything, and hadn’t for a long time now. It didn’t matter that there were designs mouldering in his unused workshop that, if he’d been given a chance to put them into production, would have allowed them to burn half the ships at a distance before they ever reached the shore. It didn’t matter that the city’s walls could have been built twice as strong if Tony’s improved mortar mixture had been used when they did repairs over the last five summers. None of that would save the city now, so it was irrelevant. Tony would do whatever it took to keep his people safe.

Jarvis would be safe if Tony did this. He would be safe, and so would Happy and the other household servants that had been the only real family Tony had growing up, and so would Pepper and Rhodey, once they returned to the city. They were both on a diplomatic visit to southern trading partners, but when they came back they would find their home waiting for them, not a blasted, picked-over ruin. Tony focused on that thought and used it to give Jarvis a genuine smile. Jarvis returned it as best as he could, smoothing a hand over Tony’s hair.

They both stiffened when footsteps outside drew closer. Two men lifted the flap of the tent and peered inside. Tony tensed immediately. One of them was an alpha, and _not_ the Captain. The other was missing his left arm.

Missing left arm, long brown hair-- _oh, fuck_. Tony had heard nearly as many gruesome tales about the Winter Soldier, the Captain’s right hand man, as he had about the Captain himself. The Winter Soldier had carried out a lot of the rumored beheadings. Tony had been skeptical about that--beheading wasn’t exactly easy, and managing it with one arm would be even harder--but now, looking at the hard, muscled body in front of him and the axe strapped to the man’s back within easy reach of his remaining arm, his doubts were fading.

The alpha noticed Tony’s alarm and put both hands up palm-out. The Winter Soldier said something that ended in a questioning tone, and looked at Jarvis.

“Master Stark is ready for your lord’s attendance,” Jarvis said, his voice perfectly even. He was standing in front of Tony, guarding whatever modesty Tony had managed to preserve while kneeling naked and bound in a barbarian’s tent. Bless him for trying.

The two men conferred, then the Winter Soldier stepped out of sight. The alpha stayed at the tent’s entrance, not coming inside, and he kept his eyes on Tony’s face, not dipping down to look at any of the skin revealed below his neck. He put a hand on his own chest. “Sam.” He dropped his hand and looked at Tony. “Stark.” He looked at Jarvis and waited.

“Edwin Jarvis,” Jarvis said, and bowed slightly. Sam bowed back.

“Eat? No? Eat.” Sam beckoned Jarvis forward.

“Master Stark shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Captain soon.” Sam looked over his shoulder, then turned and smiled. It was a nice smile, warm and reassuring. Tony was too terrified to actually _be_ reassured, but he could recognize that it was a nice gesture. “Captain _now_.”

Tony’s tongue felt thick and heavy in his dry mouth. “You’d better go, Jarvis,” he said, concentrating on not losing it while Jarvis was still in the tent. He didn’t want Jarvis’ last memory of him to be Tony breaking down. “Thanks for coming to see me off.”

Jarvis went down on one knee in front of him, his hand gentle on Tony’s chin. For a moment Tony was six years old again, spending all his days running after the steward because he already knew that only Jarvis’ smiles, not those of his parents or tutors, were real.

Tony bit the side of his tongue, hard, the pain enough to distract him from the memory before he did something appalling like beg Jarvis not to leave him. He wasn’t a child anymore. He was saving his city. He could do this.

“Master Stark,” Jarvis said quietly, “it has been an honor and a privilege to know you. Until our paths next cross.”

“Until our paths next cross,” Tony echoed, his voice hoarse.

Jarvis nodded, stood, and walked out of the tent. Tony was relieved when he didn’t look back. If he had, neither of them would have been able to pretend they weren’t crying.

Tony choked the swell of emotion back. He couldn’t afford to think about it now, couldn’t afford to show any of it on his face or in his scent. The Captain was on his way, and Tony did _not_ want to start their...relationship, whatever form it was going to take, by having their first interaction while he was blubbering and naked on his knees. That seemed like a really bad precedent to set.

He was a Stark. Starks were made of iron. Tony squared his shoulders, facing the tent flap with his chin held high.

The tent flap lifted, and the Captain stepped through.

He dropped the flap behind him and stood there in silence, expression unreadable as he looked straight at Tony. The force of his gaze was even stronger now, the uncanny blue of his eyes the darkest thing in his pale face, but Tony was braced for it this time and didn’t let his lungs empty. The Captain seemed _bigger_ than he had looked when he was sitting at the negotiating table, tall enough for his head to brush the tent ceiling, broad enough that the distinctive shield on his back was only visible in thin crescents on either side of his chest. _Trick of the angle_ , said the analytical part of Tony’s brain that never really turned off, automatically calculating the difference in heights now that Tony was kneeling and the Captain was standing. The rest of him was too busy panicking to pay attention.

He’d learn a lot from this night about how the Captain intended to treat him, at least. When he cut the ropes off, would he be careful, or would he not mind if his new trophy acquired a few scratches? Maybe he wouldn’t even bother to take the ropes off before he fucked him. There was nothing blocking access to Tony’s entrance, it would be easy enough to roll him onto his chest and knees and just plunge in.

Tony hoped he wasn’t visibly shaking. It wasn’t really that cold in the tent, they hadn’t left the southern lands yet, but night was falling fast and bringing frost with it. Between that and the dread, he couldn’t stop trembling.

He’d have to get used to it. It was colder up north by far, and Tony had come with nothing but the clothes on his back, which Stane’s servant had taken in exchange for the silken ropes that were now his only covering. If the Captain didn’t choose to give him furs and other northman’s clothing, the only time he’d be comfortable might be when he was warming the Captain’s bed. Assuming the Captain let him sleep in a bed.

“Steve,” the Captain said, hand over his chest.

Tony licked his lips. Was he supposed to give his name, or remain silent until he was asked a direct question? The Captain--Steve, apparently--already knew his name, he had to, it had been included on the settlement he and Stane had signed. Was this a test? Time was passing and Steve was still waiting with his hand on his chest but Tony had to figure out the right answer fast or when Steve moved he might--

“Tony,” he blurted.

“Tony,” Steve repeated. He hadn’t come any closer. He said something short that might have been _pleased to meet you_ or _you look good on your knees_. Tony had no way of knowing and he wasn’t going to risk echoing it. He kept quiet. _See, Howard? I_ do _know how to shut up when my life depends on it._

Steve broke the stare first. He glanced around the tent, taking in the rest of the tribute Stane had provided, without seeming particularly interested in it. His forehead creased in a thoughtful frown as his hands went to the buckles of his shield harness, undoing the clasps and lowering the shield to the side of the tent’s opening. He unpinned his cloak and draped it over a carved marble statue of a rearing horse that had stood in the entry hall since before Tony’s birth. Tony had always thought the damn thing was hideous, and apparently so had Stane, since he’d taken this as an opportunity to get rid of it.

Great. Perfect. Of all the things to follow Tony from home into his new life, he was getting the demented horse statue that had given him nightmares when he was six.

At least it was hidden now behind Steve’s cloak. Tony gave the rest of Steve’s clothing a nervous appraisal. Steve was pulling a padded leather vest off over his shoulders, leaving a long tunic and thick woollen pants in place. Tony wondered exactly how quickly Steve was planning to take off the rest. Would it be better or worse if Steve were naked, too? It might put them on more even footing, at least.

Not that the clothes really mattered. Tony was the one who was bound by ropes and promises, Tony was the one who’d come here and knelt and held still while he was trussed up like a virgin sacrifice. Steve wasn’t bound to any oaths regarding Tony’s care at all, and Tony was in no position to bargain for any.

Steve draped the discarded vest over the edge of his shield and Tony choked back a sudden swell of anxiety at the thought that he might keep going, tunic up and pants down until he was ready to--

Steve said something. Tony’s eyes snapped to his face, trying to pick up as much information as he could without a shared language to smooth the way. Steve was frowning a little, and Tony’s gut soured further at the thought of what the consequences would be of displeasing him so early in the night. They hadn’t even _started_ and Steve was already unhappy about something, but Tony wasn’t doing _anything_ , he was just _kneeling_ there, and he didn’t know what Steve _wanted_. His heart was beating faster and his lungs were getting tighter and there wasn’t enough air--

Steve said something again, low and quiet, and sank to his knees.

The move was unexpected enough that it jarred Tony out of his spiraling panic. Steve sat on his heels and kept talking, his voice gentle. His hands were palm up on his thighs.

Eye-to-eye (mostly--even kneeling, Steve had a couple inches on Tony), he didn’t seem quite so intimidating. The frown had smoothed out of his forehead and left his face calm and open. He was still talking, in a steady pace that didn’t demand a reply. Tony thought of the nonsense babble he’d used many times before to soothe nervous horses new to the household stables. Skittish colt, skittish virgin; Steve must not see much difference.

Embarrassingly enough, it was working. Tony breathed easier after a few minutes of Steve’s quiet chatter. When Steve got to his feet, still talking in a low, soothing rumble, Tony’s nerves returned, but the panic didn’t. An alpha who took the time to try to calm him was already better than his worst fears. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as he thought.

Granted, his expectations were so low they were practically subterranean, but Tony would take any silver lining he could find.

Steve approached him slowly. Tony did his best to keep his eyes on Steve’s face, since he hadn’t been reprimanded for it yet and Steve kept looking right back at him. It was strangely intimate to hold eye contact for so long. Steve barely blinked, all of his concentration on Tony. Tony swallowed with the effort not to look away. Steve’s steps were silent on the thick rug lining the bottom of the tent, and Tony could hear his own breathing quicken once Steve was in arm’s reach.

Steve’s first touch was gentle. He cupped Tony’s cheek, still holding his gaze. His palm was warm. Tony could smell him now, the alpha scent rising from his skin, unfamiliar but not off-putting. Most importantly, Steve didn’t smell angry. Tony hadn’t fucked this up yet.

Steve’s eyes moved down, looking over Tony’s body with thorough, careful attention. Tony felt his cheeks heat. He’d never been naked in front of an alpha before, apart from the occasional alpha healer when he’d been a child, and he’d never been on display like this for _anyone_. His mother’s lady’s maid had told him what to expect from his wedding night back when he’d first presented and run through every omega in the household looking for someone who was both able and willing to answer his questions, but this--this wasn’t that. He didn’t know what the rules for this were, except that he should let Steve look. It wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be to keep still. He felt like a rabbit under the stare of a hawk, frozen in place until he knew which way to leap.

The intricate ropes were a welcome distraction from the force of Steve’s gaze. Tony could feel the weight of them as he breathed and could see how Steve’s eyes slid along them, tracing the lines of deep red and bright gold. It made him feel less naked, even as they drew Steve’s attention to every part of his body, from the sides of his throat all the way down to his wrists and ankles. He braced himself for the sight of a knife, knowing that once Steve got tired of looking at them he would need a blade to cut them away, unless he was going to just push Tony over and--

Steve knelt again, right in front of him this time, and put his other hand on Tony’s chest, where the ropes met in an open circle centered over his breastbone. The hand at Tony’s jaw held him still while Steve mapped out the ropes with his fingers instead of his eyes. Tony finally had to close his eyes, the sight of Steve’s face only inches away too much to take combined with the heat of his palm and the light brushes of his fingertips over bare skin. He was pinned in place by that dual touch. Even if the ropes had disappeared, he would have stayed right where he was, kneeling under Steve’s hands.

A sudden tug on the ropes had Tony’s eyes flying open. Steve was working one rope out of the complicated circle on Tony’s chest. He made a small, satisfied noise when the end came free, then tugged on the same rope a few inches further back, moving it through another twist. Another slow tug and the coil unraveled.

“Oh,” Tony said, too relieved to remember that he’d meant to stay silent. “You’re untying them, okay. That’s good. Better than leaving them on, that’s for sure, and to be perfectly honest, my knees are starting to ache. Was there supposed to be an endurance component to this ritual? I promise I feel sufficiently abased before your magnificence.”

Steve didn’t seem to mind him talking. He looked up at Tony, smiled a little, and went back to his work. His palm moved to Tony’s shoulder, one hand holding him steady while the other worked the rope free, slowly enough that the friction from the silken ropes didn’t scrape uncomfortably against Tony’s skin.

“This is going to take a while, I hope you realize.” Tony knew he was babbling, but he was too nervous to stop now, not unless Steve _made_ him stop. He chanced a look at Steve’s eyes, which were closer than ever while he studied the ropes spreading over Tony’s back, and found only calm, focused patience. “Not that I’m advocating that you cut them off or anything. Slow is fine with me. Not having a knife near my skin is an added bonus. I can’t say I was looking forward to seeing your knife work up close and in person, no matter how impressive it supposedly is when you’re carving up your enemies. Woah, okay,” Tony said, his voice pitching up sharply as Steve’s hands closed firmly over his upper arms. For a second he thought he was about to be encouraged to shut up after all, but Steve just tipped him carefully onto his side, draping his torso across Steve’s lap as Steve sat beside him. Tony held his breath for a few long seconds, but Steve just ran a hand down his calf and started working on the rope holding his ankles together. “Okay. This is fine, we’re okay. I’d say warn a guy, but it’s not like I’d understand it if you tried, so, okay, free pass on that one.”

Tony ran out of breath as Steve worked his way up the ropes encasing his legs calf to thigh. His movements were even slower and more careful once he was pulling the knots away from the sensitive skin of Tony’s inner thighs, but the delicacy of the movements didn’t stop Tony from feeling every brush of Steve’s fingertips and tug against the rope rippling through his whole body, heat and pressure building with every new touch.

His face flamed as Steve untied the rope that crossed his groin and wound around his ass to meet the rope at his wrists. Steve held the rope away from the fragile skin between his legs before pulling, making sure that no friction rubbed against Tony’s entrance. It wasn’t physical pressure, but Tony imagined he could feel the weight of Steve’s gaze on parts he’d barely looked at himself. The heightened awareness that Steve could _see_ him made him realize that at some point he’d started to get wet, and that was. Perfect. That was just fantastic. Leaking for an alpha who’d barely touched him was a great way to establish a sense of dignity and cultivate respect, because nothing said “please take me seriously and treat me like I’m not just here for you to fuck” like getting slick when he wasn’t even in heat.

Then again, staying dry would make the rest of the evening a lot more painful, so maybe Tony should be counting his blessings. What were the odds that the fearsome Captain of the North would ever take a conquered omega trophy seriously anyway? Being treated like a skittish pet was probably the best he could hope for. Even Stane hadn’t been cruel to his own dogs.

“I guess it’s a good thing,” Tony said, a slight tremor in his voice. “It makes things easier, or so I’ve heard. I couldn’t say personally. As you know.” If he _had_ ever been claimed by another alpha, Steve would have smelled it as soon as he got close enough to scent him, and no doubt the city would have been looted and on fire before dawn.

Steve spoke again for the first time since he’d started untying the ropes, a long sentence that ended with him resting one broad palm on the middle of Tony’s back. Tony twitched under it, tensing up helplessly.

“I really hope that was approval and not some kind of critique. It’s your own fault, you know. How else am I supposed to react to an alpha getting so close and--and touching me and smelling good and looking at my--at my everything. It’s just biology, it doesn’t _mean_ anything.”

The hand on his back slid up to grip his neck. Tony closed his eyes at the wash of honey-slow warmth that followed the drag of Steve’s palm along his spine and the pressure of Steve’s fingers at his nape.

“That’s cheating,” he said, distantly aware that his voice had gone slow and drawling. His wrists were still tied together at the small of his back, but he could finally stretch out his legs. He kicked his feet out slowly, leaving him sprawled awkwardly across Steve’s lap, his chest and thighs draped over Steve’s legs while his body went limp. “That is absolutely cheating, _fuck_.”

Steve made an approving noise and slid his hand down again. Tony pressed his hot cheek against Steve’s tunic. Steve’s hands were working on the ropes at Tony’s wrists, the last part of the tie, and the relief of almost being free was warring with the knowledge of what was going to happen next.

When the last of the rope gave way, it was immediately replaced by Steve’s hands. Tony held still as Steve rubbed gently at the tender skin of his wrists. Steve said something brief and low-voiced before releasing his hands and rolling Tony onto his back, keeping him centered in his lap.

“So, no more ropes,” Tony said, because he’d long since lost control over his mouth. “I guess we’re onto act two. Jesus, I hope you know what you’re doing. They say omegas are a lot rarer in the north, but surely we’re not the first city to try this particular kind of bribe. Do you have a harem? Am I going to have to make nice with your harem? I guess that wouldn’t be too different from managing relationships when you’re keeping a household, I’ve had the training for that, I could oh _holy shit_ ,” Tony squeaked, when Steve’s hands, which had been slowly meandering over Tony’s chest and arms, massaging circulation back into every inch of his skin, rubbed over his nipples. The sensation sent a shock of heat through him that he wasn’t remotely prepared for, and he resisted the urge to glare at his own chest. They’d never done that when _he_ touched them.

Steve paused, then repeated the motion. Tony made an embarrassing noise and squirmed, which just rubbed his back against Steve’s muscular thigh. How was Steve so _warm?_ Tony fisted one hand in Steve’s tunic and pressed the other against the carpet, not sure if he was trying to steady himself or to keep himself from grabbing onto Steve directly.

After a moment of deliberation, Steve slid a hand down to frame Tony’s belly, his broad fingers spanning the soft skin under Tony’s navel. His other hand moved to cradle the back of Tony’s skull, and then they were kissing.

Tony had tried kissing before: a few times with beta daughters of visiting minor gentry, once with the omega son of a nearby lord. They’d been quick, the beta girls breaking away to giggle and look around to make sure they hadn’t been seen, the omega boy daring to run his hand over the front of Tony’s trousers before they’d both pulled away from the forbidden contact. The sense of danger that came from stealing a kiss away from the watchful eyes of their guardians had been more of a thrill than the kisses themselves.

This kiss was different. Steve pulled away to lick his lips after the first startling contact, then came back with his mouth warmer and wetter. His hand in Tony’s hair controlled the angle of Tony’s head, keeping him tipped back, his jaw loose and his throat bared while Steve pressed in close. Tony could barely breathe. Steve wasn’t being rough with him, wasn’t biting or bruising, but the contact alone was enough to make Tony’s lips tingle, blood rising to the surface and making his mouth even more sensitive. When Steve finally pulled back, Tony could only gasp for air, looking up at him with astonished eyes.

Steve stared down at him, his lips reddened and his cheeks flushed. He didn’t look so carefully controlled anymore. His nostrils flared with his next heavy breath, and his eyes moved to Tony’s cock, now bobbing stiff and red above his belly.

“Oh, _fuck_.” Tony sat up abruptly, going hot all over with embarrassment and something else that burned in an entirely different way. He’d thought he’d been wet before, but it was nothing compared to the melting warmth he could feel now, enough slick leaking out to make the tops of his thighs slippery. “That is _definitely_ your fault. Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that?”

Steve said nothing, but his lips parted as he breathed in again. The scent of Tony’s slick was probably stronger now that he’d spread it around by sitting up. Steve’s eyes half-closed and his own scent flared. Tony gulped as the wave of strong, spicy-hot alpha scent swamped him, the smell of Steve’s interest enough to start a low throbbing between his legs.

“Okay, so.” Tony sat up a little straighter, sitting on his own calves with Steve’s legs bracketing him. “This is happening. Here we go. I have to say, I’d be less nervous about this if you were smaller.” He snuck a look at Steve’s groin, but it was still covered by the tunic and pants Steve wore, hiding whatever Steve was packing. Tony wondered, with fatalistic curiosity, exactly how hard it was going to be to take. He wished he could see it, just so he could plan his approach better.

Not that Tony was going to try to just--just jam it in there. For one thing, alpha cocks were supposed to be huge. For another, he’d gotten himself through a few pre-heats and he knew that even when he was wet, it took time to loosen up for anything bigger than a fingertip. He could--start with that? A finger or two? So far, Steve hadn’t seemed to be in a hurry. Maybe he wouldn’t object to letting Tony take this at his own pace and stretching himself out first instead of trying to take Steve all at once.

Only one way to find out. Tony swallowed hard, trying to ignore the fresh wave of anxiety at knowing he was taking a risk, that this might prompt Steve to decide foreplay was over and it was time to take whatever he wanted. He dragged a finger through the slick on his thighs and reached for his entrance.

Steve caught his wrist. Tony’s ears roared with a surge of adrenaline as he froze, instinctively bracing for a slap. He’d pushed too far, he _always_ pushed too far, and now Steve would--

Would make a soft shushing noise. Tony blinked. Steve made the noise again, then moved Tony a little closer, hitching him up until he was cuddled into Steve’s chest. He rested his chin on top of Tony’s head. Tony’s nose was right by Steve’s pulse point, where his scent was strong. It held none of the aggression Tony had expected.

“I--what?” Tony squirmed a little, and Steve let him wiggle but put a hand on his back when Tony tried to pull away. Tony slumped back down and Steve made a satisfied noise. “Seriously, _what_ , I don’t understand what you want me to do.”

Steve _shushed_ him again. Indignant, Tony poked him in one of his annoyingly muscular and perfect pecs.

“Oh, sure, tell me to shut up, everyone does, but I’m _trying_ to work with you, here. I’m just trying to make sure you get what you want and I get hurt as little as possible in the process, which would be a lot easier if you would _tell me what you want_.”

Steve let him sit up the next time he tried. He looked at Tony consideringly, then reached down to slide a fingertip between Tony’s legs, just touching over his entrance.

Tony’s breath caught. The sensation itself was light, the pressure barely there, but knowing what that touch was going to lead to had him clenching up tight, his heart racing in anticipation of pain.

“No,” Steve said softly. He took his hand away and tapped his nose, then shook his head. “No.”

“You--don’t like that smell?” Tony pieced together the what Steve was telling him with the cues he’d given earlier, which were pretty obvious, now that he had an idea of what Steve was reacting to. “When I’m scared. You don’t like how I smell when I’m scared.”

“Scared.” Steve nodded, then said, more emphatically than he’d said anything else, “Scared, _no_.”

“You don’t want me to _be_ scared.”

“Scared, no,” Steve repeated, and put his hands on his knees, deliberately not touching Tony.

Tony blew out an exasperated breath and crossed his arms. “Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, buddy, but you’re kind of utterly terrifying. No offense. I’m sure it works well for you on the battlefield and all, but I’m not going to just get over my maidenly nerves if you shush me a few times before we get busy.”

Tony was pretty sure Steve hadn’t understood any of that, which was probably a good thing. Steve just looked at him calmly until Tony sighed and sat back on his heels.

“Okay. Not being scared. I can work on that.” Tony eyed Steve. “It would be easier if you weren’t so, y’know, giant and muscley. Just a thought. I guess there’s not much either of us can do about that. You could--lie down, maybe?” Tony made a tentative hand motion, holding a hand up straight, then tilting it to the side, leaning to the side himself to demonstrate.

Steve laid down on his side immediately. He left his head propped up on an elbow, but the rest of him rested flat against the tent floor, one leg extended and one knee bent into a comfortable sprawl. His eyes were still on Tony, and he was smiling a little.

“Okay, that--worked a lot better than I was expecting. So you’re willing to take suggestions, good, that’s good.” Tony licked his lips and scooted a tiny bit closer. He was sort of looming over Steve now, but Steve didn’t seem the least bit threatened--well, and why should he, Tony was unarmed ( _naked_ , Tony was _naked_ ), physically smaller, and hadn’t spent the last decade getting really good at killing people. Looming or not, Tony was hardly a threat.

Even lying down, Steve was pretty clearly capable of looking out for himself, but it was less intimidating this way, with him lying below Tony. Body language mattered. Even more than that, he’d listened to Tony and acted on his suggestion. He’d _listened_ to _Tony_. That already put him in a very small and select club, and as Tony’s fear was easing back, his curiosity was growing.

“I wonder if you asked for this, or if Ob--if it was a suggestion you went along with. Did you even want an omega?” Tony inched forward. Steve didn’t move, his eyes steady on Tony’s face. “Maybe you didn’t. Maybe that’s why you’re not more, uh. Insistent. That would be okay. I can stay out of your way.” Tony had never been great at being unobtrusive, but he could damn well learn. Picking up the language would keep him occupied for a couple months, at least, and after that he’d--start polishing all the swords, or something. If they would let an omega touch their swords. “What are your feelings on omega-designed weapons? Just wondering.”

Steve didn’t reply, but he was still smiling. Maybe Tony’s babble was cute when it was incomprehensible. “Like I’m a pet. How charming and not at all demeaning. Is this really working for you?”

Steve blinked at him, then stretched both his arms above his head, rolling onto his back like a cat. His tunic rode up around his ribcage, and Tony had a brief, probably-suicidal urge to rub his belly and see what happened, which receded quickly once he actually looked at Steve’s belly and--lower regions. “Okay, I guess it is working for you. Wow,” Tony said, staring down at the bulge tenting Steve’s pants. “Um. Well, that’s. Intimidatingly large. I hope you wear a codpiece when you’re fighting, because seriously, that’s kind of a big target there.”

“Scared, no,” Steve repeated softly.

“Yeah, okay, I got that,” Tony snapped, and then immediately stiffened, fighting the urge to cringe away. He darted a fast look at Steve’s face, but Steve didn’t look angry, only--sad? Whatever it was, his face went expressionless a moment later.

“Sorry,” Tony mumbled. God, he was a mess. Yelling at his--whatever Steve was, liege lord, alpha, owner, _something_ \--for being _nice_ to him. Way to seal the deal, Stark. Really getting this relationship off to a great start.

“Tony,” Steve said, the name softened by his accent, followed by a sentence Tony couldn’t understand, and he was _definitely_ learning the language as soon as he possibly could, this mutual incomprehension was _entirely_ unacceptable. His tone was low and rumbling and he was still lying on his back.

“Yeah, okay, let’s try again,” Tony said, pretending he was agreeing with whatever Steve had said. “I’ll try not to freak out this time. Maybe we’ll just keep things above the waist for a while, how does that sound?”

Steve smiled again. It was a nice smile, small and soft, and it lightened his whole face, softening the stern lines by his mouth. Tony concentrated on his face and ignored everything happening in the region of his pants.

“I’m not really enjoying being the only one naked, here, let’s go for something more balanced. Can you take your tunic off?” Tony mimed pulling a shirt over his head. Steve caught on immediately, rolling up enough to pull his tunic over his head by the hem. He tossed it towards the tent flap to land near the rest of his clothes and laid back down again. “Good, thank you. And wow, shoulders. Congratulations on those.”

Steve’s chest was pretty nice, too. Tony lost some time examining Steve’s nipples, which were smaller and pinker than his, and were crinkling at the edges in the cool air of the tent. Abruptly realizing he’d been staring, Tony coughed and jerked his eyes up to Steve’s face.

Well, now Steve was laughing at him. He was being subtle about it, but the curve of his lips and suspicious tension in his stomach gave him away. That was better than most of the other reactions he could have had to Tony ogling his chest, though, so Tony would count it as a victory.

“Look, it’s not my fault you’re interesting to look at,” Tony told him sanctimoniously. “I’ve seen plenty of men shirtless, don’t get me wrong, you don’t grow up in the city center without learning which windows offer the best view of the courtyard where the guards practice in the summer, but those shoulders are something else, seriously, your _muscles_ have muscles. Plus I might get to touch you at some point, so it’s different, and where on earth is your body hair? Don’t you get cold?”

Tony summoned up his courage and shuffled forward. His hand reached out, retreated, reached out again, and hovered an inch above Steve’s shoulder. Steve waited, the only movement his chest rising and falling as he breathed.

“Okay,” Tony whispered, feeling ridiculous. “Okay, here we go.”

He set his palm onto Steve’s shoulder. Steve was warm, no surprise, and his skin was unexpectedly soft. “No sun exposure?” Tony theorized, as his fingers twitched nervously against Steve’s skin. Emboldened by Steve’s acceptance of his touch, he started to feel his way along more deliberately, stroking over the firm curve of his shoulder towards his collarbone. “You probably don’t do a lot of shirtless training, even in the summer, if it’s really as cold up north as they say it is. They say the southern sun is stronger. I read a theory once that it’s the angle of the earth’s tilt--”

Tony broke off sharply when Steve moved. He almost pulled his hand back, but Steve didn’t try to grab him. He just rolled his head towards Tony’s hand, nostrils flaring as his nose got within a couple inches of Tony’s wrist. It was Tony’s turn to hold still while he tried to get his heart rate to slow.

It was more than just fear making his heart pound now, and Steve would be able to smell the arousal rising from the thin skin above his pulse. “How are we doing?” Tony asked, watching Steve press the tip of his nose to Tony’s wrist. “Do I pass the smell test?”

He must have, because Steve’s eyes went heavy-lidded with his next deep inhale. Tony felt that same jolt low in his belly he’d felt when Steve scented him before. This time, with Steve sprawled out below him, ostentatiously unthreatening, it wasn’t followed by panic. Tony licked his lips.

“Taking that as a yes. Okay. Maybe we can get through this after all.”

Tony tried. He really did. He spent a long time touching Steve’s shoulders, his arms, his chest, even a daring swipe along his jaw, dangerously close to his throat. Steve’s eyes were dark and intent as he watched, his body tense with whatever instincts he was keeping in check, but he didn’t pounce. Tony was given free rein to touch him. Flares of alpha scent rolled off Steve's skin whenever Tony found a sensitive place to stroke, or whenever Tony’s own arousal spiked. Maybe if Tony had a month to explore, he could have gotten so comfortable with Steve’s body that stroking over the erection tenting Steve’s pants wouldn’t make his own scent sour with nerves, but he only had a night, and he could see how the muscles in Steve’s stomach jumped when Steve was suppressing the urge to move. He didn’t trust that restraint to last.

They hit a stalemate over Steve’s pants. Every time Tony went near them, his anxiety surged until Steve blocked his hands and redirected them to safer territory. After the third failed attempt to hurry things along to their inevitable conclusion, Tony sat back and raised his hands in exasperation. “Look, it’s my first time, I’m going to be nervous, okay? I’m not getting any more relaxed tonight than this. This is it. Are we doing this or what?”

Steve considered him for a moment and sighed; at least some of Tony’s point must have gotten across. He rolled onto his side, folded both hands together under his head, and closed his eyes, then opened them and raised his eyebrows in a question.

“Absolutely not,” Tony said, not trying to conceal his outrage. “After all that, you want us to just go to _sleep_? No. _You_ created this problem,” he said, pointing at his own hard cock before jabbing a finger at the tent in Steve’s pants, vaguely aware that he wouldn’t have dared to do this an hour ago but too caught up in his indignation to work up any real alarm. “It’s _your_ responsibility to fix it.”

Steve frowned at him. Tony glared right back. Steve’s eyes softened. His mouth kicked up at the corner, his shoulders started to shake, and then he was laughing, softly at first, then harder when he saw the poleaxed outrage on Tony’s face. He ended up shaking with great big belly-laughs on the floor, slowing down gradually only to start up again every time Tony huffed at him.

“If you’re _quite_ done,” Tony said, arms crossed, when Steve’s laughter had finally died down. “Who would have thought the fearsome Captain was secretly a giggler?”

Steve pushed up until he was sitting across from Tony, eye level once more. Tony didn’t shy back or retreat this time. That wasn’t what Steve seemed to want from him, and stubornness came to him much more naturally than submission.

“Scared, no,” Steve said, then held up a hand when Tony opened his mouth. He said something else, keeping his hand held palm-up, then rolled onto his feet. Tony stayed where he was as Steve rifled through the chests of tribute.

After a few minutes of searching, Steve made a satisfied noise and came back with an armful of blankets and cotton. There must have been a linens chest included with the rest of the tribute; with a pang, Tony recognized the wobbly flowers on the sheets he’d embroidered himself. The flowers had started out as gears, until his tutor had reviewed his work and made him go back and add petals and leaves. They were supposed to be part of his marriage trousseau, something he’d bring to his husband’s household. It made sense that they’d been sent along with him now. This was as close to marriage as he was ever going to get.

“Tony?” Steve said. Tony blinked and looked up at him. He’d gone still in the middle of the floor, looking uncertain.

“I’m good,” he said, shaking off the memories. “It’s cold in here, so I won’t say no to blankets and sheets, but if you expect me to drop off to sleep when I’m this worked up, you’re going to be waiting until dawn, I hope you realize.”

The chatter seemed to reassure Steve. He shook out one of the sheets and layered a blanket over it, then beckoned to Tony until he moved onto the blanket. Steve held out a hand palm-up, then retreated back to where he’d been lying before, bringing a blanket with him.

“Sit, stay,” Tony said, dryly. “Got it.”

Steve unfolded the blanket and sat facing Tony. He knelt up, licked his lips as if _he_ were nervous, and then unbuttoned his pants.

Tony’s mouth abruptly went dry. Steve paused and held up a hand in that same _stay_ gesture, and this time Tony understood. Steve was taking care of the problem, but he wasn’t expecting Tony to be involved, at least not physically. The view from where he was sitting was going to be enough to satisfy his curiosity, but Tony wouldn’t have to do anything. Nothing would _hurt_.

“Oh,” Tony said, relief and excitement washing through him. “Yeah, okay. This is good. This is great.”

Steve smiled at him, looking at least half as relieved as Tony felt. He worked his pants off his hips and down his knees, taking whatever smallclothes he was wearing down at the same time. His erection sprang free and slapped against his stomach, and holy shit, how had there been enough room in Steve’s pants to hide that thing?

Tony opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, acutely aware of Steve watching his reaction. “Yeah, so, I’m just going to stay over here,” he said carefully, trying his best to keep his scent even. Their relative positions helped a lot. He didn’t have to be nervous about Steve’s size, not when he was only watching from a distance. Tony thought again of heights at a distance and perspective tricks and had to fight back a nervous giggle. Steve was turning out to be a surprisingly tolerant alpha, but Tony didn’t want to test that tolerance by appearing to laugh at his dick.

Steve settled himself on the blanket more comfortably and let his knees fall to the side. Tony watched Steve give himself a slow stroke, spreading precome down his shaft to ease the way, and licked his lips. Yeah, fear was definitely not going to be the dominant theme in his scent. The liquid heat sitting low in his belly coiled tighter as he watched Steve’s lips part on a shaky exhale. It was easier to accept the wetness coating the tops of his thighs when he wasn’t worrying about whether it would be enough to temper Steve’s intrusion. He slid his fingers between his clenched-together thighs.

“Can I--” Tony wrapped his slick hand around his cock, gasping at how good the contact felt. _Finally_. Steve’s eyes widened and his scent went volcanic. “Yup, that’s a big yes, that’s, holy _shit_.” Tony hoped whoever was in charge of cleaning Steve’s gear had some kind of trick for scent masking, because everything in the tent was going to be _drenched_ in alpha arousal.

“Not that I’m complaining. You smell _great_ ,” Tony said, almost dizzy with it. This was going to be over embarrassingly quickly. He had no idea how long it had been since Steve entered the tent, but it _felt_ like Tony had spent hours teasing both of them with his fumbling explorations, and now that he actually had a hand on himself, he was having trouble holding back. “I’m serious, Ty rubbed his wrists all over my neck every time we danced and it mostly just gave me a headache. This is way better. Can you--yeah, do that again, like that.”

Steve bucked his hips up again, fucking into his fist as his thighs flexed and stretched, and Tony groaned as his toes started to tingle in sympathy. “ _Fuck_ , that’s good. I’m close, I’m almost there.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said, deep and rough, fervent enough to be halfway between a command and a prayer.

Tony had to shut his eyes while he came. Watching Steve watch him was too much, unbearably intimate, while he was so exposed. His breath came in harsh pants that he couldn’t seem to slow, and every stroke of his hand made his inner passage throb and clench around nothing. The smell of Steve’s completion filled the air and left his senses swimming. Even when his hand slowed to a stop, he kept his eyes closed, trying to regain his equilibrium. He was startlingly close to tears again, of relief or gratitude or who knew what, but he refused to let them fall. Starks were made of iron.

“Tony?”

“The blanket’s going to have a hell of a wet spot.” Tony opened his eyes and blinked at Steve, who had one hand cupped around the base of his softening cock. He looked a little worried. “Not that I’m complaining. That was good, that was great, that was--not what I was expecting.”

Steve smiled at him. His scent had mellowed into something drowsy and satisfied, but his eyes were still attentive on Tony. He dipped his head before he spoke, the tone of his words pleased.

“First thing tomorrow morning, vocab lessons. I hope you’re ready for me to point at everything in sight and demand nouns.” Tony yawned prodigiously and scrubbed his cleaner hand over his face.

“Tony,” Steve said, to get his attention, and then put his hand under his angled head and closed his eyes, miming sleep.

“Yeah, it’s bedtime,” Tony agreed. He hesitated, then took a deep breath and gathered up the blanket and sheet below him. Most of his other gambits had worked, and even the ones Steve rejected hadn’t actually ended badly. Besides, Tony wouldn’t be Tony if he didn’t push every limit he met. How else was he supposed to know what he could get away with?

Steve didn’t say anything as Tony crossed the tent and dropped his blankets next to Steve’s, and Tony kept his head down to avoid his eyes. He laid down on his side about a foot away from Steve, close enough to feel Steve’s body heat on his back before he pulled the blanket over himself.

“Good night, Captain,” Tony said.

“Steve.” The word was soft, quiet enough that Tony could have pretended not to hear it.

“Good night, Steve,” Tony amended. After a few moments, he heard the blankets behind him rustle as Steve settled into them. He relaxed and let himself breathe out. Steve didn’t move away or try to touch him, and the steady sound of his breathing let Tony know exactly where he was. Tony let his eyes slip shut.

 

Tony woke up with an ache in his hip and a crick in his neck. He groaned and rolled onto his back, freezing when that pressed his side against something warm and firm. His eyes opened a crack to peek at the obstacle.

Steve looked back at him, clearly amused, and said something short.

“Good morning to you, too.” Tony sat up with his blanket clutched around his waist, abruptly self-conscious again. He’d managed to forget about his nudity last night, but the light of day was filtering through the tent seams, reminding him just how much there was of him to see under the blanket. “Are there clothes around here somewhere that I could borrow?”

Steve either ignored his request or misinterpreted it, because when he got up, entirely unself-conscious about his own nakedness, he went directly for the tray of food someone had left at the tent flap. He came back and set the whole tray onto Tony’s lap.

“I hope you don’t expect me to eat all of this myself,” Tony said, eyebrows raised. Steve just gave him an expectant look until Tony picked up a roll and started chewing.

Steve rummaged through more chests and turned up a long embroidered tunic and leggings that were too gauzy by half, but mostly opaque once Tony layered two pairs over top of each other. Tony got dressed at the same time Steve did, both of them politely turning their backs to each other, as if either of them had anything the other hadn't seen the previous night. It wasn't logical, but it was reassuring anyway.

“What do you think,” Tony said, spreading his bare arms out to his sides. “Am I decent?”

Steve eyed him critically, then pulled his cloak off the rearing horse statue and draped it over Tony’s shoulders. Before he could check his instincts, Tony pressed his nose into the lining, inhaling Steve's scent. He caught Steve flaring his nostrils and flushed before turning away and clearing his throat.

“Okay,” he said quickly, pushing the tent flap back and squinting into the daylight. “That takes care of clothes for today, at least. Eventually you’re going to need your cloak back, though, so at some point I should get some real clothes of my own.”

“I believe I can help with that, sir.”

“ _Jarvis_?” Tony blurted, whipping around fast. It wasn’t a hallucination: Jarvis was walking towards them, the alpha who’d introduced himself as Sam and the blond archer who’d met them both yesterday walking beside him, their arms full of trunks and canvas sacks. “What are you still doing here?”

“Jarvis stays,” Sam said, sounding happy about it. He was carrying a canvas sack over each shoulder. The archer was staggering along behind him under the weight of an enormous wooden chest that Tony recognized from his own bedroom.

“Lord Wilson has been kind enough to accept my petition to stay on as your retainer, conditional on the Captain’s approval, of course.” Jarvis ran a critical eye over Tony’s arms and face, lingering on his unmarked neck, before giving a little nod of satisfaction. Tony knew what he was noticing: no bruises, no rope burns, no bite marks. Steve had been careful untying the ropes. Steve had been careful with _him_. Tony could read a mirror of his own relief in the way Jarvis’ shoulders loosened at finding him unharmed. “With the assistance of the Captain’s men, I was able to bring some of your possessions along with my own.”

Sam had a quick exchange with Steve, and Steve’s face lightened. He looked at Tony and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Tony blurted, “please, yes, let Jarvis come with us, please.”

Steve nodded and said something to Sam.

“Jarvis stays,” Sam repeated confidently, and bowed to Jarvis, who bowed back.

“Assuming you have no objections, of course, Master Stark,” Jarvis said demurely.

“As if I could stop you.” Tony wanted to hug him. He held himself back with the promise of doing it later; they would have time, now, if Jarvis was accompanying him, and after taking Steve’s measure last night, he wasn’t afraid that coming along with them would get Jarvis killed. And Jarvis was already fast friends with Sam, apparently. “What about Stane?”

“I daresay he’ll learn to manage without me,” Jarvis said, sounding supremely unconcerned. “Lord Wilson, if you could show me where I might stow the rest of Master Stark’s things?”

Sam beckoned him along to the shoreline where men were streaming onto the waiting boats, giving Tony a nod before they left. Tony noted that Sam, at least, understood more of their language than he could speak. Or more than he _chose_ to speak. It wouldn’t be particularly difficult to pretend not to understand a word, while really being fluent.

Tony turned to Steve and gave him a shy smile. “I can’t wait until tonight when I can ride your throbbing salami stick again, masterful pleasure king of my heart.”

Steve just gave him a small smile in return, but the archer standing next to him choked on air and had to double over and cough for a minute before he got his breath back. _Got you_ , Tony thought, locking onto his new target, who was currently receiving concerned back-slaps from Steve. The archer waved him off and straightened.

“Hi,” Tony said brightly. “I’m Tony, and you’re my new language tutor.”

“Shit, I guess I am,” the archer agreed, an easy grin on his face. “I’m Clint, and you know what, you’re going to do just fine around here.”

Steve made a frustrated noise and said something to Clint, who replied with something that made Steve’s face smooth back out.

“Okay,” Clint said, clapping his hands together. “Couples language lessons start just as soon as we’ve cast off. You ready?”

Tony looked at Steve, who smiled again and extended a hand. His fingers were still warm and gentle as they wrapped around Tony’s. Tony kept his hand in Steve’s as they walked to the shoreline, for once not trying to tamp down his slowly rising hope.

It was too good to trust, too close to what he’d always wanted, but--for now, at least, he’d let himself believe it was true. That Steve was willing to learn for him. That Steve wanted to know what Tony had to say. That Steve only wanted from him what Tony wanted to give. If Tony was wrong, he’d find out, and there wasn’t anything he could do in the meantime to change that. For now, he followed the tug of his alpha’s hand, and let Steve pull him into their shared future.

 

_Three years later_

 

Tony raised the spyglass to his eyes. The crewman in the crow’s nest had just barely sighted land, but he was working with the spyglass Tony had designed two prototypes ago (only the most durable spyglasses were allowed up in the crow’s nest, a rule instituted when Tony had to grind all new lenses after Pietro dropped a brand new version from the crow’s nest to the deck). Tony’s latest design let him see details Pietro would miss, even if it was a bitch to focus on the fly. He patiently adjusted the lenses until the walls of the city were clear.

All the defenses looked just as he remembered them, aside from a few new wall repairs and even more patches that were starting to crumble. Stane hadn’t changed much. He always did prioritize external sales over internal investments.

“A fine dawn,” Steve said from behind him.

Tony didn’t take his eyes off the spyglass before shifting his weight back, knowing without looking that Steve would be there waiting to pull him against his chest. “Good morning, beloved. Can you believe he’s still using the same cannon design Howard built a decade ago?”

“Bad luck for him,” Steve said serenely. His arms wrapped around Tony’s shoulders, supporting his arms without jostling the spyglass. “How soon until they see us and sound the alarm?”

“An hour, maybe two if the wind slackens.”

Steve’s lips brushed softly against the side of his throat. Tony tilted his head and let the arm holding the spyglass swing down to his side. “Enough time for breakfast in bed?”

“See, you say that like it’s a euphemism, but I know you, Captain Rogers. You’ll lure me in by batting those big blue eyes and then feed me biscuits instead of taking off your pants.”

“So you’d like biscuits?” Steve said, not rocking back an inch when Tony elbowed him half-heartedly. “You should eat something. It’s going to be a busy morning.”

Tony turned to look at Steve. His face was calm, his hands steady on Tony’s hips; only the metallic tang of anticipation in his scent revealed how much he’d been looking forward to this day. The peace settlement had forbade him from attacking for three years, and the Captain always honored his word, but he’d never intended to leave Stane in power forever, not once he’d confirmed that Stane had knowingly sold weapons to Hydra. The details Tony had eventually confided about what his life had been like under Stane’s rule had only made the inevitable battle more personal.

Tony had no doubt over who would win. Armed with Tony’s weapons and guided by Steve’s tactics, the Captain’s fleet was nearly invincible.

“Compromise,” Tony suggested, nosing into Steve’s chest. “My kind of breakfast in bed first, your kind of breakfast in bed after.”

Steve hummed, pretending to consider. “Your terms are acceptable. Your breakfast, my breakfast, and then we reclaim your birthright.”

“My, that _is_ a busy morning.” Tony stowed the spyglass into its case, then jumped up. Steve’s hands caught him, squeezing his hips and ass as Tony wrapped his thighs around Steve’s waist. Steve took the weight like it was nothing, squaring his stance a little to balance them both on the rolling deck. Tony could trust, the way he had once only trusted Jarvis’ smiles, that Steve would never let him fall. “We’d better go get started.”


End file.
